“Of course,” she returned, smoothing down her best black skirt. “They go with the house and outbuildings—`all the chattels and appurtenances thereto', the will read.”
“Why, Mrs. Atterson!” gasped Hiram. “He must have left you the farm.”
“That's what I said,” returned the old lady, complacently. “And what I'm to do with it I've no more idea than the man in the moon.”
“A farm!” repeated Hiram, his face flushing and his eyes beginning to shine.
Now, Hiram Strong was not a particularly handsome youth, but in his excitement he almost looked so.
“Eighty acres, so many rods, and so many perches,” pursued Mrs. Atterson, nodding. “That's the way it reads. The perches is in the henhouse, I s'pose—though why the description included them and not the hens' nests I dunno.”
“Eighty acres of land!” repeated Hiram in a daze.
“All free and clear. Not a dollar against it—only encumbrances is the chickens, the cow, the horse and the pigs,” declared Mrs. Atterson. “If it wasn't for them it might not be so bad. Scoville's an awfully nice place, and the farm's on an automobile road. A body needn't go blind looking for somebody to go by the door occasionally.
“And if it got so bad here finally that I couldn't make a livin' keeping boarders,” pursued the lady, “I might go out there and live in the old house—which isn't much, I know, but it's a shelter, and my tastes are simple, goodness knows.”
“But a farm, Mrs. Atterson!” broke in Hiram. “Think what you can do with it!”